


one more time...

by soldierwitch



Series: bad decisions, but good times [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, POV Maria DeLuca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 12:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18052646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldierwitch/pseuds/soldierwitch
Summary: Maria told Michael he couldn't use her as a band-aid, but after putting her mother in an assisted living facility, she needs him to be there for her. It's a bad decision, but it's one she's making anyway.companion to like a stolen car





	one more time...

**Author's Note:**

> So this is about the smuttiest thing I've ever written, but it's smut with feelings so it's still on brand lol. This fic takes place about two weeks after the end of [like a stolen car](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17895650). You'll definitely need to read that one if you want some insight into just how Maria knows about Michael and Alex, and why Maria and Michael are so comfortable with each other's bodies. There's also a little shout out to my fic [gettin' square](https://asoldierwitch.tumblr.com/post/182613084593/gettin-square) which is over on my fic blog, asoldierwitch. Let me know if you catch it.
> 
> As a disclaimer, I took liberties with Maria's psychic gift in this. I have no idea how it's going to work in show, but I liked the thought of her not only getting impressions of people's emotions, but also images that they project. Plus, it was fun to write. 
> 
> I didn't plan for this to become a collection, but here we are. As the season moves forward and there's room for episode inspired additions to this universe, I may add to it. We'll see. Happy reading, y'all!

Maria has trespassed before. A B&E, a dip in a spoiled rich kid's pool. She's no stranger to being where she shouldn't be. But she's always done so without shame, without remorse or regret. Her decisions have been her own, and she owns up to making them with her eyes wide open.

On the night she checks her mother into an assisted living facility, Maria kisses Michael with her eyes closed. Her fingers stutter across his cheek, hesitant and clumsy yet there anyway. He tastes like the liquor they've been drinking, and she knows she tastes the same. In the morning she'll recognize that grief not need is what compelled her to cross a line she drew herself but in the moment all she knows and feels is kinship. She'd sniped at him, told him that she couldn't be his band-aid, and here she is two weeks later expecting him to be hers.

Looking at Alex hadn't been easy, but she'd done it. She'd seen Michael smirking in his eyes, and heard Michael laughing when he spoke, but she pushed on. The thought of her friend should be enough for her to stop her hands from pushing into Michael's hair. It should be enough to halt her tongue's slow drag across Michael's. But it's not. Not in the face of her own need. Hope is gone for Maria. It flew away on a breeze, and it's not coming back.

_ Michael was right _ , she thinks, breaking their kiss and resting her forehead against his.  _ Misery loves company. _

"This doesn't fix things," she says, catching her breath, fingers clutched on the collar of Michael's jacket.

He doesn't say anything.

Maria swallows. "But I want...," she trails off.

"You want what we all want," Michael says.

She bites her lip.

"Ask."

Maria shudders, her fingers flex.

Michael noses at her cheek. "Ask," he whispers, lips brushing against her ear.

"Guer."

His hands slip under her shirt, warm against her waist. "You gotta ask, Maria."

"Take care of me."

The words are barely out of her mouth before he's kissing her again, practically pulling her into his lap. She moans into it, mouth opening to grant him access.

Michael doesn't kiss by halves. He's all in. Licking, sucking, and teasing until you're left in a haze of desire. He's a distraction. The kind of person that occupies your mind, filling your daydreams with memories of his every touch and word. It's why Maria couldn't leave him as a one and done even though she tried. The blackout was a heat induced fuck. Or at least it was supposed to be. A new notch on both of their bed posts. But then it turned into a semi-regular thing. A thing she began to look forward to until she found out she had no business looking forward to anything from Michael Guerin.

"Here," he asks, kissing her again before she can answer.

She nods.

"Bed or bar?"

"Bed."

Maria lets Michael lead her up to her room. And when the door closes she lets him press her against it. Michael has a bit of an oral fixation. She teased him about it the second time they slept together. He can't help himself. If he's not kissing then he's sucking softly against her neck or biting her ear.

"Why'd you wear a sweater  _ and _ a shirt," he grumbles, hands pushing up to cup her breasts.

She laughs, her first of the night. It lightens her heart. "It was cold today."

He hums, distracted as he sucks at her nipple through the fabric of her bra.

Maria whimpers, hands flattening against the door.

"Where's your knife," he asks, letting his hand take over for his tongue.

"In my boot."

When Michael drops to his knees, Maria feels her temperature spike, but she's not so far gone that she's lost all sense. "You're not destroying my clothes so you can have easy access," she says as he takes off her boots and sets her knife to the side.

"Next time then."

"There's not going to be a next time," Maria says. It's a promise to herself, one that Michael doesn't acknowledge while he makes quick work of getting her pants off.

"Guerin."

Michael rests her leg on his shoulder and then licks at her through her panties.

"Ah," Maria manages, back arching against the door. "Guer--I, mmmmm."

"Say my name," he says, pushing her panties to the side and teasing her with a finger against her entrance.

"I--I am," she says, stuttering as his thumb brushes against her clit.

"My first name."

Maria looks away. It's too intimate. She flushes a soft red, cheeks warming in embarrassment. Michael has fucked her on numerous occasions. She's the one who said the use of last names was too distant for a man who'd had his tongue in her cunt. But things were different now. He'd lied by omission, broken her trust. She wanted this to be like the one in done it should have been all those weeks ago.

"Please," Michael begs, taking her hand.

Caught off guard, Maria feels his emotions transfer to her. Desperation and desire twist like a drug into her system. It's heady, makes her slip against the door with its force.

Michael steadies her with his other hand, fingers firm against her hip. “Maria?”

“Let go,” she says, low and shaky. Her legs feel like they can't hold her weight. She's overheating, taking too much too fast. Michael's projections are loud. Like he's screaming at her to let him make this right, make it good.

“What?”

“Let go,” Maria says again, slipping further down the door. Her eyes close, her breath comes quick like the impressions flickering through her mind. Michael's pleasure, his want, wraps around her like a vice. Confusion. Hunger. The light on her window sill in the morning and the smell of bacon frying in a pan. Whisky and tequila. A lime against her lips. The sharp crack of a cue ball being hit. “It's too much.”

When Michael finally lets go of her hand, Maria slips all the way down the door. She lands with a small thump in front of him. Her own laughter reverberates in her head though none is falling from her lips. It's joyous. Bright. Words she hasn't been able to describe herself with in a long time.

“Maria,” Michael asks, concern laden in his voice. He reaches out to her, but she shakes her head.

“Don't touch me.”

His eyes widen, and Maria knows she used the wrong words. She holds tight to the hem of his shirt, keeping him from rising to his feet.

“Didn't mean it like that,” she says. “I need a minute.”

“What happened?”

Maria wants to say that he's alot. That sometimes her gift snaps out around him. Like it did when she found out about Alex, like it's doing now. He gets to her, buries under her skin. Makes her see him when she never asked to, when she just wanted to live in what she observed not what she felt. But explaining that to a normal person is...well, it's damn near impossible but she tries anyway.

“You know when you're on the edge,” she says. “Right before you come. When you feel like you'd do anything to make it last or make it stop. It's contrary. It doesn't make any sense. But your body is processing too much, you're overstimulated, and you’re so hot you could burst out of your skin.”

“Yeah…”

“Sometimes, it's like that when you touch me and I'm not ready.”

Michael doesn't look like he gets it, and Maria needs him to understand. For one night, she needs someone to get what it's like to be her and feel so much. To constantly be aware of every touch, every emotional transfer. The only person who does understand is sleeping five miles down the road away from her home and everything she knows. 

It's empty here without her mother. The emptiness is deafening and it is lonesome. Maria has the rest of her life to be alone, she doesn't want to be tonight.

Shucking her sweater and her shirt, Maria unclasps her bra and slides out of her panties, leaving herself bare to Michael. It's nothing he hasn't seen before but there's a part of her that feels young and inexperienced again.

She takes his hand, trembles as the connection reopens. “Think of me. Think of what you want to do with me.”

“Luca--”

Maria's cunt clenches at the nickname. He hasn't called her that in over a decade. She hears her laughter again. Paint flies in an empty classroom. They touched back then. Shy, unsure. There was a spark of something that went nowhere. The fickleness of teenagers.

“We can't go back there,” she whispers.

“Sorry,” Michael says. “I didn't. I'm…”

Something flickers into focus--a cot. band posters. a guitar leaned against a tool box--then fades.

“What did I say about making me a band-aid?”

“Don't.”

“Right,” Maria says, “Don't.”

She knows what this is or what it was supposed to be. A release. A good time. And now she's naked sitting on her floor with a man who is not hers. She should care more, she knows this, but she doesn't. They don't belong to anyone and love means nothing if it's not accepted. Maria is trespassing, but she is wanted. She is welcome.

Michael thinks of her laughter most. It's boundless. Filling her head with her own delight and his satisfaction at hearing it. His desire to make her come is equal to wanting to make her laugh. He wants to press kisses into the softest part of her belly ‘til she smiles. Wants to lick her cunt sweet and kind, gently rocking his fingers in and out.

“I taste like goodness,” she asks, her lips pull into a smile.

“Yeah,” Michael says, looking away.

Maria giggles softly. 

He looks sheepish and younger than he is. It's cute. 

She lets go of his hand and cups the side of his face. “I want to be kind to you, too,” she says and then kisses him. “I want to come on your fingers and on your tongue.”

Michael grabs her wrists, searches her face in wonder. “How do you--”

“Psychics are empaths,” she says. “I feel what you feel.”

“All the time?”

“No,” Maria says. “You can lose yourself that way. I channel when it's necessary or when I've been asked. Otherwise, I protect myself. I fortify my mind against influence.”

Something flashes quick across Michael's face. Guilt. His sister comes to her mind and then she is gone. 

Michael kisses Maria before she can ask. Her head fills with the sound of a creaking bed, a headboard slams against the wall. She breaks the kiss with a laugh.

“Quit showing me,” she says. “Just do it.”

“Yes, M'am,” Michael replies and picks her up from the floor. He lays her on the bed, taking his time to undress before he joins her.

"You're beautiful," he says, kissing her cheek.

Maria rolls her eyes and snorts. Shifting onto her side, she says, "Michael, you don't need to woo me. I'm already naked and willing."

He grabs her wrist, flipping her so she's on her back as he hovers over her. "I can't say nice things?"

For a moment, Maria sees herself as Michael sees her. She's standing behind the bar, hair frizzing out in the heat. Flushed cheeks, sweaty neck, and a scowl a mile wide. She's pressed up against a door, shirt rucked up, chest heaving, a satisfied smile on her lips. She's asleep, the moon bathing her in its light, flower petals gracing what's left of her curls.

"Oh," she says, wide-eyed.

Michael smirks. "Yeah, oh," he says. "Now stop being mean, so I can continue being nice to you."

"I'm not mean."

"Mhmm," he says, kissing his way down to her cunt.

"I'm not," Maria insists though she's starting to lose the thread of what they're talking about.

"You're a little mean," Michael says and then licks her clit.

Maria has every intention on refuting that statement the minute she can think beyond how good Michael's tongue feels against her cunt. He takes his time, lapping at her folds, and pressing her back on the bed as her hips raise for more.

Michael shushes her. "I got you," he says, before giving her a finger to ride.

"More," Maria moans.

"More what?"

She growls, hands fisting in his hair and pulls.

He groans, mouthing lifting from her cunt to bite her thigh, hard.

Maria comes, hips jerking with the unexpected force of it.

When she calms, Maria smacks at Michael's shoulder. It's shaking with his laughter as he leaves soft kisses against where he bit. A bruise is going to form there by the morning.

"It's not funny."

"I'm not laughing," Michael says, lying through another chuckle and kissing her.

His lips twitch with a smile. Maria doesn't need her gift to feel the smugness rolling off of Michael in waves. Distracting him by sucking on his tongue, she snacks a hand between the two of them and grabs his cock. She gives him a firm stroke, relishing in the shiver she feels rundown Michael's body. He breaks their kiss with a moan of her name.

"Feels good," she asks, swiping her thumb across his tip.

"Ye--Yeah."

"How good?"

"M--Maria."

"How good, Michael," she asks again, letting go of his cock and rubbing her cunt against him instead.

Maria can feel him losing grip of control. His palms shift by her head, his hips are rocking harder into hers. When he moves to kiss her, she pulls back, shaking her head.

"Tell me how good it is first," she says. She can feel how badly he needs to get his mouth on something, but she's not going to let him. Not yet.

When Michael reaches for her hand, Maria moves it out of the way. "No cheating," she says, leaning up to suck on his ear. "I want to hear you say it."

"Maria, please."

"How. good. is. it?"

"Fuck," Michael whimpers, falling to his elbows. "Luca...it's fucking...fuck. Ah, please. I need...I want..."

"You want what," Maria asks, she's slipping now, too. Michael sounds wrecked. She's not sure how much longer she can hold out herself. Her nipples brushing against his chest are sending sparks of electricity straight to her cunt. She doesn't think she could come like this, but her body seems primed to prove her wrong.

"You want what, Michael?"

"Y--you," he stutters. "I want you."

Maria pulls him down to her, teeth catching on his lip as she shifts her hips so her cunt sheaths his cock. They groan with it, Michael pulling her hips higher to thrust deeper. What little control she had over her gift releases as she feels Michael's emotions pour into her. He's hurt, but he wants to focus on her. There's a darkness he's pushed to the side.

"It's good," Michael whispers into the side of her neck before biting it. "Mmm, you're good."

"Michael, you're--you're good, too," Maria says and then loses herself to the feel of both their pleasure. Her cunt contracts, his name falls from her lips over and over as she meets his strokes with her own.

Maria feels Michael's release like its her own, coming again and shaking with it. When she turns her head, she finds that their hands are clasped. She chuckles weakly at the sight.

"Who's laughing now," Michael asks, out of breath, but still nosing at her cheek.

"Me," she says, smugly, wiggling their hands.

Michael huffs a soft laugh at that and says, "Good."

Maria pushes his shoulder so he'll pull back. She places her hand against his cheek, thumb smoothing across his skin. "Stay tonight," she asks even though she knows she shouldn't. She tries not to squirm under his gaze as he decides.

Michael nods. "You want to talk about what happened?"

"Do you," she asks, cocking her head to the side.

In answer, Michael lets go of Maria's hand and turns to lay on his back.

"That's what I thought," she says.

For a moment it's silent and then Maria turns on her side and pokes Michael in the stomach. "And I'm not mean. You have no proof."

Michael looks down at her, and Maria wills him to take the bait. To play with her. She doesn't want to fight with him or deal with anything that happens next or after this bubble she's made for herself pops. That's a tomorrow problem.

She laughs when he pulls her against him, hand fitting against her waist.

"I do have proof," he says with a smile. "What about the time you said I looked like a drowned poodle?"

"That was factual. You came in looking like you lost a fight with the rain."

"Well, what about the time," Michael starts and Maria snuggles into him preparing her counterpoint to his story in which she knows for a fact she wasn't mean because she says so. And she smiles letting him take care for even if it's just for one night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is very much appreciated. If you'd like to drop me a line, you can find me over on tumbler, @asoldierwitch.


End file.
